


Growth Left

by authoresswithoutwords



Series: Left [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Growing Up, Other, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoresswithoutwords/pseuds/authoresswithoutwords
Summary: Puck, Harry's Godson, as he's growing up and becoming an adult.//This story cannot be read as a stand-alone.//
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Left [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658788
Comments: 28
Kudos: 677
Collections: I love you so





	Growth Left

**Author's Note:**

> Better late than never - here is a Puck POV story! A lot of you readers wanted more Puck, so I hope this satisfies you!

It takes Puck a long time – embarrassingly long, actually – to notice that his uncle Harry is not an ordinary man.

Well, he says uncle, but Harry is actually his Godfather. He much prefers him to his Godmother, whom his mother likes to call “frigid bitch” when she thinks Puck can’t hear her.

But anyway! He doesn’t notice that Uncle Harry is different from Dad or Mom or any of their friends. Well, he _did_ know that he’s not as stuffy and boring as most adults, but not how very different he is. But Puck has an excuse for that! He’s known Uncle Harry for all his life, so of course he didn’t notice anything off!

The first memory he has of Uncle Harry is from when he was about three or four. He remembers running along some path or other, eyes in the sky and at a figure on a broom. He doesn’t know if it was his father, an enthusiastic if untalented flyer, or some stranger, but he remembers the burning need to run, run, run, to see if he’s faster, if he _can_ be faster than a broom. Now, of course, he understands that it’s quite impossible to catch up to or overtake a broom in full flight on foot, especially when one is a toddler, but back then, he didn’t care and just ran.

Uncle Harry was looking after him that day. Puck has always preferred Uncle Harry to Lady Greengrass. Her idea of babysitting is sitting in a stuffy library and reading boring books while she does “important business”. Uncle Harry, on the other hand, asks Puck what he wants to do.

Nowadays, he asks him to tell him stories of the Wizarding War or to teach him a spell. Back then, he just wanted to be outside. Even that differed greatly from what being outside with his parents or other babysitters was like. Mom always played right alongside him and Dad very seriously explained plants and gardening and potion ingredients and animals to him. The babysitters walked right besides him, but kept a careful eye on him. Whenever he picked something up, they immediately wanted to see it and determine whether it was dangerous before letting him keep it. They steered him clear of danger and perceived danger and never let him have any fun.

Uncle Harry didn’t care about keeping him from danger. He followed him closely, but generally left Puck to his own devices. He was allowed to pick up stones and moss and look at them closely without having to give them over to his caretakers for prior inspection. Still, Uncle Harry was always right there when he tried to stick them into his mouth to see if that pretty flower tasted as nice as it looked or if that stick would make a noise as satisfying as a carrot when bitten into.

So, when Puck ran, Uncle Harry didn’t run behind him, yelling loudly to make him slow down the way the babysitter always did. He didn’t dash before him, trying to make him go faster and into the soft grass so that he wouldn’t hurt himself if he fell like his mother. He didn’t call his name in a serious voice and hold out his hand for him to take like his father. Uncle Harry was content to walk behind him, watching over him from afar. He did admonish Puck to be careful when he started going faster and faster, but let him run off.

Then, the inevitable happened. Little Puck came across a rock or a stick or a root he didn’t see as he was staring up into the sky, tripped and came crashing down. His trousers were ripped at the knee and the skin was broken, a bit of blood coming out of the abrasion.

Being a toddler, Puck naturally started crying as if he’d lost his leg instead of scraping his knee.

This, of course, was not the first or last time that Puck had fallen or injured himself. His mother likes to tell him about his days learning to walk where he almost brained himself on the sharp corners of tables on the regular. But usually, his parents or caretakers would fuss over him, take out their wands and heal the wound.

Not so Uncle Harry.

He knelt down next to Puck and took him into his arms.

“Are you alright?” he asked, rubbing the sobbing toddler’s back.

“My knee hurts!” said Puck, or the toddler-in-tears approximation of it.

Uncle Harry hummed as if confused. “Why does it hurt?”

“Because I tripped and it hurts!” To support his words, Puck twisted and turned until he could show his wound to Uncle Harry.

“That looks nasty! Why didn’t you look on the ground so that you could see if there was something in the way?”

Pain and tears forgotten as Puck remembered the broom he’d been following, he excitedly told Uncle Harry about it, gushing about how fast it had been going. Within a minute, he was ready to go again. But when he took the first step, his knee still hurt.

“Why isn’t it better yet?” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks again.

“Because it doesn’t heal that easily,” Uncle Harry replied, not hesitating to hold Puck close again when he sought comfort.

“Why? Mommy and Daddy make it go away!”

“And they’re doing you a disservice with that,” Uncle Harry mumbled before saying seriously, “Puck, you have to learn that every action you take has consequences.” Seeing Puck mouth the complicated word uncertainly, he explained, “That means that for every thing you do, something else happens. You see, you were running very, very quickly, but you didn’t look on the ground. Because you didn’t see the root, you fell down and hurt yourself. That pain you feel is your body. It’s telling you to be more careful.”

Puck scrunched up his face. “But why?”

“Your body is showing you that you could be hurt more if you aren’t careful. It’s telling you to pay more attention to your surroundings. Because you were looking at the broom, you didn’t see the root you tripped over. But I bet you also didn’t see the butterfly that was flying next to you, or the rabbit that was watching you by the fountain over there.”

Just like that, Puck’s attention was captured. “A rabbit?! Where?”

“It was over there,” Uncle Harry said and pointed. Nothing was there.

Seeing Puck’s pout, he explained, “You frightened it because you were going so fast. It was afraid you might be even faster than it and so it ran off to show you that it’s still the fastest! But you missed seeing it because you were looking at the sky and not around you. You were going so fast that you could only look at the sky and didn’t have the time to look around. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Puck thought very hard and came to the conclusion, “If I go slower, I can see more!”

“That’s right! What a clever kid you are!” Uncle Harry grinned and took him by the hand, bringing him to the place that the butterfly still circled.

That night, Puck eagerly told his mother what had happened during Uncle Harry’s visit while she attempted to get her excited chid out of his dirty clothing, grumpily mumbling about Cleaning Charms destroying fabric and did they really still need this pullover?

When she pulled off his mud-soaked trousers, she exclaimed, “Puck, what happened to your knee?”

Confused, Puck looked at her, then at his knee.

It was still wounded; the blood had dried to seal the injury. Curious, Puck prodded at it, never having seen such a thing before. His hurts had always been healed immediately, after all.

It hurt a bit to touch, the abrasion still tender. Then, Puck recalled that it had indeed pained him a bit when he knelt down earlier to pick flowers for his mother, and also when he’d bent the knee while sitting down.

But before tears could well up, Puck recalled what Uncle Harry had said and all of the interesting things he’d discovered on the way back that he’d just ran by earlier. This wound, he decided, was a sign to slow down.

So when his mother reached for her wand to heal the injury, Puck protested. “It doesn’t even hurt! And I’m a big boy, I don’t need to be healed anymore!”

For Uncle Harry had indulged in his curious questions about the raised lines on his arms and explained to him that older children often didn’t have their parents right there to heal their wounds and that big injuries led to scars. So, if Puck had scars, he’d be more similar to Uncle Harry, Puck reasoned, and Uncle Harry was cool and everyone should be more like him, especially Lady Greengrass! And Puck was a big boy, he didn’t need to be healed like a _baby_!

Though confused, his mother left the wound alone and laughingly teased him, “Well, if you are such a brave big boy, you surely will let me get you cleaned up, right? Big boys aren’t afraid of the bath, after all.”

Despite all his protests, she then ushered him into the bathroom.

The next day, Puck led his babysitter outside. She sighed, seeing a long afternoon of running after a toddler in her future, but was pleasantly surprised. While Puck did want to run after that butterfly or to this flower, he took a step and felt the healing skin on his knee tighten and remembered to go slow. When he slowly made his way to the flower, he found a pretty stone and an ant trail that he carefully stepped over. When he knelt down next to a snail with a colourful shell, his knee hurt a bit as if to remind him that he’d seen all these fun things because he’d taken the time for them.

The next time he wanted to run to something, he pressed his fingers to his knee. After a while, it didn’t hurt anymore, but it still reminded him of the wound that had once been there and to take his time.

This developed into a habit that Puck still has to this day. When he thinks he’s hurrying too much, he presses against his knee and focuses again. This slowing down and taking a look around has helped him very often – on tests, on treasure hunts, during conversations.

Whenever Uncle Harry catches him doing it, he starts trembling with repressed giggles, but he’s never teased him for it – a stark contrast to his mother.

When Puck was seven and going to Primrose Primary School for Magical Children, he overheard children talking about their Godparents. Most of them were good friends with theirs, some didn’t know them very well, even less were raised by them, not their parents.

That’s also when Puck began hearing adults muttering about Uncle Harry. They talked about how people sent him requests to become a Godfather and how he rejected them even though the compensation offered sometimes was enough to live comfortably for three lives.

Puck got scared. What if Uncle Harry decided to have another Godchild? What if he decided Puck wasn’t enough anymore? What if he ignored Puck and spent all his time with his other Godchild?

He was sullen all week, not telling anyone what was bothering him. His mother tried to tease it out of him, his father offered to solve the problem together, his babysitters promised him praises and gifts if he told them, his Godmother told him to stop being a brat.

And then, his mother called in Uncle Harry.

Puck braced himself. He wouldn’t tell Uncle Harry. What if he gave him the idea of having another Godchild? What if he already did and was only waiting for a chance to tell Puck? What if he’d come to say good-bye?

Uncle Harry didn’t rush him. He sat down next to Puck and calmly asked a house elf for some hot chocolate.

There was an undertone of humour, as if he was telling an insider joke, as he said, “I think this is a chocolate occasion.”

Uncle Harry took the mug of hot chocolate and warmed his hands with it, taking a sip and sighing out his pleasure at the taste.

“Do you also want some?” he asked.

Stubbornly, Puck shook his head and crossed his arms.

They sat there for a long time, Uncle Harry next to Puck. Uncle Harry’s arm touched Puck’s turned back, but otherwise, they sat as if next to strangers.

Finally, Puck couldn’t keep silent anymore. Defiant und definitely still sulking, he asked, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Uncle Harry shrugged. “If you want to say something, you will. If you don’t, we’ll spend a quiet afternoon in contem- lost in our thoughts. Sitting here and staring at nothing is more pleasant when you share the space with someone else, and I’ve nothing better to do.”

Suddenly, Puck broke out in tears. “So you only come visit me when you have nothing better to do?” he demanded angrily.

Uncle Harry reached a comforting hand out to Puck’s shoulder, but he shook it off. Uncle Harry didn’t try again.

“Of course not, Puck. You know how busy I am, but I’d always leave my work and possibly even Vorlost behind when you need me.” Puck still refused to look at him. “Your mother called me over because she thought you might tell me what’s troubling you. I had a nice afternoon planned with Vorlost that I’d been looking forward to for the whole month, but when I heard that you need me, I left him to come here.” Grumbling, he added, “That workaholic probably is already buried in his paperwork again. Let’s see if I can pry him away from it again sometime this week.”

Against his will, Puck giggled. Remembering that he was still angry, he stopped and crossed his arms harder and glared at nothing.

Uncle Harry sighed, but didn’t say anything else.

They sat in silence again. Puck’s tears dried and his cheeks itched, but he refused to stop crossing his arms and so suffered in silence. This discomfort only strengthened him in his conviction that the world was out to get him. After all, Uncle Harry didn’t even pat his hair like he usually did to reassure him, or stroke over his back, or hug him. Young Puck didn’t consider that he’d just rejected Uncle Harry’s attempts at comforting him and saw this as a slight against him with all his illogical stubbornness.

A while later, Uncle Harry started humming distractedly the way he always did when he was relaxed and thinking about something good.

Ten minutes later, Puck couldn’t contain his curiosity anymore and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Even though he couldn’t see it, Puck knew Uncle Harry smiled. “I’m thinking about last week when the two of us painted your room. We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”

Caught up in the memory of laughing as he painted a forest-green moustache on Uncle Harry’s cheeks, Puck nodded.

“Is the paint dry already? Does it look like you imagined?”

Again, Puck nodded. Combined with the dark wood of his furniture and the light-green accents, his room looked like a real forest. His mother had wanted to put some butterflies on the wall, but Puck rejected them. He wanted a stag there and a bear here and pink fluffy butterflies had no chance in a forest. His mother had mumbled something about gender conformity or other, but put the butterflies away. They later on ended up in his baby brother’s room. He was delighted with the soft texture and loved to chew on them, so his mother began to hang them progressively higher on the wall to encourage him to stand up. So far, it had only led to many frustrated tears.

“What other plans do you have for your room, or is the reconstruction finished?” Uncle Harry probed carefully.

Puck gave short answers to each of his questions and still didn’t turn around, but Uncle Harry seemed at ease with having a conversation and didn’t try to ask for the reason behind Puck’s sour mood.

This lasted until it was beginning to get dark outside and Uncle Harry stood to leave.

Suddenly, Puck couldn’t bear to let him go.

“No!” he screamed, standing up so quickly his numb legs nearly gave up under him. “Don’t go, don’t leave, stay!”

He threw himself at Uncle Harry, winding his arms around his waist and hugging him as tightly as he could.

Uncle Harry stroked over his back to calm him down until the tears and hysteric shouts died down.

“Are you ready to talk about your problem now?” he asked, sitting down again and pulling Puck in his lap.

Puck encircled Uncle Harry’s neck with his arms, surely pressing more tightly than what was comfortable, even though he didn’t complain, and was silent again.

Gently, Uncle Harry pointed out, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

It took another while until Puck found the courage to open his mouth, but Uncle Harry waited him out patiently, brushing his hand over his back and holding him close.

“Do you…?” he asked before his short-lived bravery died.

Uncle Harry encouraged him with a hum and they sat quietly again. This time, the silence was no longer companionable, but burned with Puck’s attempt to formulate his thoughts.

Finally, the mood was too much for him and Puck broke down.

“When you have another Godchild, will you still visit me?” he cried. “You’ll forget me and stop thinking about me and never come visit me again!”

He went on for a good five minutes. Uncle Harry didn’t interrupt him, patiently letting him let it all out. Only then, when Puck was too tired from sobbing to continue, he explained, “A Godparent is bound by a peculiar… a weird bit of magic. They can only ever have one Godchild. Even if that weren’t the case, I’d never want to become Godfather for another child. The only Godchild I’ll ever have or ever want is you. You don’t ever have to worry about such things, Puck. Even if I had the choice, I’d always choose you again.”

They spent another hour cuddled together, Uncle Harry murmuring reassurances and Puck fighting his tears again, until Puck almost fell asleep and Uncle Harry tucked him in.

The next day, Puck was back to his happy and energetic self, much to the relief of his parents, and when he started feeling sad about maybe not being the only and most important child in Uncle Harry’s life again, he was always patiently reassured.

Now, he wonders why Uncle Harry hadn’t hit him with a hex the third time his mother called him. Merlin, he used to be so obnoxious!

When Puck was eleven, he received his Hogwarts admission letter, just like everyone else. He took the letter from the owl, fed it a treat and opened the envelope very casually.

His father noted wistfully, “Getting admitted is no longer what it used to be. Back in my day-,“ his mother laughed at his father trying his best to sound like an old man even though he was barely over thirty, “-everyone was so excited when they got the letter. You see, we didn’t go to primary school but were home-schooled. We didn’t know all of our classmates yet and it was all very thrilling.”

Puck hadn’t stopped in his quest to read the letter to listen to his father ramble on about “the good old time” and was fighting his way through the ancient handwriting on the parchment.

“It says here that Uncle Harry will take us to Diagon Alley to buy what we need!” he announced a good minute later.

His mother smiled warmly. “That’s great! You haven’t seen each other for a few weeks, right?”

Puck pouted. “He always gets so busy before the new school year. But this year, I’ll also be in Hogwarts so we can spend more time together!”

The thought lifted his mood and he started humming a happy little made-up tune, missing that his mother cooed over him and his father shook his head at her lovingly.

And so, two days later, Uncle Harry came to school. He smiled friendlily as the teacher waved him inside with enthusiasm that was better suited for one of her students than a witch nearing her hundreds.

“Hello, class,” Uncle Harry greeted the students. They all looked up at him with wide eyes that he ignored with the ease of practice. “I’m Professor Harry. I’m sure you all know I’m here to take you to Diagon Alley to buy all you need for your upcoming Hogwarts year. So, the only question is – are you ready?”

The children nodded eagerly.

“Alright, then grab your bags – don’t forget to bring the money your parents gave you! – and line up by the door. I want an orderly row of two!”

It took some time to herd the children into the row, but they quickly formed their lines and followed Uncle Harry out of the classroom after a hurried goodbye to the teacher.

Puck walked in the very front, waiting for an opportunity to talk to Uncle Harry. Unfortunately, he was busy answering the curious questions aimed at him from all directions. He led the children through a door and down a hallway that Puck had never seen before, though they hadn’t left the school building.

They stopped soon enough in front of a heavy wooden door.

Uncle Harry waited patiently for everyone to catch up before explaining, “Behind this door is a Portkey. I need you all to step on it and hold hands so that we make a big circle. Then, I’ll activate the Portkey and it’ll carry us to Diagon Alley. Has everyone used a Portkey before?”

One or two children hadn’t, so Uncle Harry gave further details on what a Portkey felt like and what exactly would happen. Most students were too excited to stand still and whispered to each other, but Uncle Harry didn’t seem to mind. Puck knew he noticed, though – Uncle Harry noticed everything.

When all questions had been answered, Uncle Harry opened the door and let them walk into the plain room. They all stood on the big carpet and held hands, Puck with Uncle Harry, before he gave the password and activated the Portkey.

They landed safely, if a bit queasy, in a room almost identical to the one they’d just left. The only difference was that the door was on the other side of the room and that it was a shade lighter.

“Our first stop will be to buy your books. Follow behind me and take care not to get lost!”

The children scrambled to do so, fighting their way through the crowds walking through Diagon Alley. Fortunately for them, Uncle Harry walked very slowly. He constantly was greeted and had to exchange a few words of small talk before begging off further conversation.

Puck found the face he pulled whenever he was called by yet another “sycophant who really wants to talk to his husband, _really_ ”, as his mother dubbed them, very amusing.

“Uncle Harry,” he asked, “why do all these people know you?”

A bit bemused, Uncle Harry answered, “They don’t know me. They know Vorlost and think I’ll say good things about them to him if they’re kind to me.”

Puck remarked, confused, “But you don’t care at all for Uncle Vorlost’s work!”

Uncle Harry laughed. “I don’t. As long as everything works well, he can do whatever he wants. And you know Vorlost. Before anyone else even knows there is a problem, he’s solved it already.”

Puck nodded sagely. Uncle Vorlost was scary like that – well, and because of his red eyes. Whenever he came to visit with Uncle Harry, his father and mother would get nervous. Puck didn’t get why – once you got over his complicated way of speaking and remained respectful, Uncle Vorlost was great fun. He liked to entertain Puck with magic tricks, though he never revealed the spells behind them and only told Puck that he could search for them on his own once he was old enough to go to Hogwarts. Uncle Vorlost also gave amazing speeches about basically everything. Puck delighted in picking the most ridiculous topic he could come up with and beg Uncle Vorlost to orate about it – and Puck means “most ridiculous”. One time, he giggled all afternoon long about Uncle Vorlost’s sermon about the disadvantages of being a princess with long, long hair that farted flowers whenever she stepped on it. It was very funny to hear such a serious person as Uncle Vorlost say, with a completely straight face, words such as “fart” for nearly an hour.

Thinking back on it, Puck finds it a wonder that he hasn’t combusted from second-hand embarrassment and cringe yet. And it’s a miracle Uncle Vorlost played along, honestly.

Uncle Harry assures him that Uncle Vorlost saw it as a way of practicing his rhetoric, and really: Puck cannot remember a single time that Uncle Vorlost has been lost for words, not even when the most annoying reporter or most obnoxious Pureblood supremist asks an impertinent question that has absolutely nothing to do with the actual topic of the discussion.

When Puck gathered up his courage and asked about it, Uncle Vorlost huffed and said, “After having to think of advantages to hair with the ability to pass wind, every other question is tame in comparison.”

Yes, that teasing twinkle in his eyes is the reason Puck knows that Uncle Vorlost has a sense of humour and is not the granite statue of good reasoning and solid logic everyone else seems to think he is, though Uncle Vorlost is way too scary to even think about bantering back. The only one who dares to is Uncle Harry who takes to it with a determination that would be better suited to life-or-death duels, delighting in every smile he manages to get out of Uncle Vorlost.

So even back then, Puck found it weird for Uncle Harry to be beset by random strangers who thought they had the right to interrupt him while he was fulfilling his duties. So it took a long, long time to get through Diagon Alley, which suited the children just fine who had plenty of time to look around curiously.

When they arrived at the bookshop, Uncle Harry told the children to gather all the books on the list and up to two others that caught their interest. The children scattered through the shop until only Puck remained.

Curious, Uncle Harry asked, “Don’t you want to run off with your friends?”

“I can see them every day, but I don’t get to see you often,” Puck said.

Uncle Harry smiled and stroked his head. “But you’ll see me every day now, too. So much that you’ll get sick of me, even.”

“Never!”

The teasing smile that Uncle Harry had learned from Puck’s mother came across his features. “Not even when I give you so much homework you think you’re going to die?”

Before Puck could formulate a reply, a girl called Uncle Harry over and he left with a last ruffle through Puck’s hair.

After the bookshop came an apothecary where Uncle Harry cheerfully greeted the owner and her soulmate. The way there was a bit scary, leading through Knockturn Alley. The street was very narrow and the roofs and buildings looked like they were stretching into the alleyway to grab at them. The children held onto each other fearfully, but Uncle Harry strode forwards confidently and they followed.

Here, no-one dared stop Uncle Harry, though he did wave to a few people, half of whom looked like they were uncomfortable with the attention.

The children looked around the Apothecary curiously as the shopkeeper’s soulmate packed up their potion kits and Uncle Harry and the shopkeeper argued about the price – curiously, he for a higher and she for a lower fee. Then, they were ready to leave again and shortly stood in front of the pet and Quidditch stores.

“So,” Uncle Harry said, effortlessly calling all attention to himself, “you’ve got an hour to look around in these two stores. I’ll nab two of you at a time and go with you to have your school robes made. After that, I’ll be staying here, so if you have any questions or troubles, come find me. When you’ve all got your uniforms, we’ll take a short break and eat some ice cream. In the meantime, I’ll take a handful of you to get your wands. After that, we’ll be returning to school. Alright?”

The children nodded, so Uncle Harry took out a list with all their names listed alphabetically. “We’ll start with the Misses Abbot, then Miss Adler and Miss Bauer.” He read the list out loud which, Puck noted, also doubled as a check to see if anyone had got lost. “Then, if you’re ready, off you go! This way, Miss Abbot, Miss Abbot. Are you twins?”

Chattering, he led them away as the children scattered.

Puck didn’t move, feeling a bit lost.

That was the first time he noticed that Uncle Harry didn’t exist only for him, his parents and Uncle Vorlost. Even when Uncle Harry came back to pick up Puck and the boy before him in the alphabet to have their uniforms tailored, he had to pay as much attention to the other boy and the shop attendant as to Puck.

This realisation left him feeling hollow – a feeling that only left later on when he could boast about how well he knew Uncle Harry to the gaping masses of his school friends.

A few months later, it was time to go to Hogwarts. Puck’s friends were all a bit nervous, not knowing anything about the castle or the teachers, but Puck knew that Uncle Harry would be there.

He endured his mother’s tearful kisses and his father’s tight hugs, ruffled his younger siblings’ hair and was off.

Puck’s mother made a great deal about admiring the Hogwarts Express, much to his embarrassment and the other parents’ and children’s amusement.

“Oh, train, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed dramatically, stepping forward to pet the lacquer. “Oh, how pretty you are! Just to think, you used to be such a ghastly Gryffindor red! Look at all this purple – doesn’t it suit you much better? Oh, you beautiful, beautiful train!”

“Hey!” a student from Gryffindor shouted in indignation at her comment, and she turned to him with a bright smile and familiar sparkle in her eyes, ready to argue and joke and laugh.

Before the situation could derail any further, Puck ducked into the train so that he, at least, would not have to bear witness to the mortification that is his mother.

The train ride was a bit boring – there is only so long children can sit tight and do nothing, after all, but one of the upperclassmen had brought along a deck of cards that he lent to his younger brother, one of Puck’s friends, and the ride passed quickly after that.

Arriving at Hogwarts, they were picked up by the Transfiguration professor, a quirky young man by the name of Parkinson. He froze the water of the Black Lake so that the students had a quick walk to the castle that was revealed quickly from behind a copse of trees, its windows glowing invitingly.

“We used to cross the lake by boat,” Professor Parkinson explained, “but each year, some mischievous student would push another into the lake, or a boat would capsize, or someone would be deathly afraid of boats or water, and nobody wants to go to their Sorting dripping wet, so – here we are! The older students would arrive by carriage, drawn by Thestrals, but the way to Hogwarts is long and bumpy. And this way, students aren’t reminded of loved ones they lost whenever they come back to school! Isn’t that amazing?”

The older students had already heard his speech a few times and weren’t listening while the first year students were too busy trying to get a glimpse of Hogwarts and then staring at it to pay attention.

It was beautiful.

It also looked like it would be crazily easy to get lost in.

A few children held hands, trying to fight off their nervousness, as they strode off the ice and onto solid ground once more, then into the welcoming light of the opened huge wooden doors.

Puck walked alone, confident that Uncle Harry wouldn’t let anything bad happen to any of them. He even sometimes managed to stop his mother from doing something so horrendously embarrassing Puck would have preferred to die rather than see it!

Yes, Uncle Harry was a real hero.

Professor Parkinson led the students into the castle, then waved the older students into the Great Hall, leaving him with the eleven-year-olds.

“So, welcome to Hogwarts!” he said dramatically, spreading his arms wide and shooting sparkles from his fingertips.

An older student snickered. “Still lame, Professor!”

He twirled around to face her and wag his finger in her face. “Still don’t care what you think! And now hush – I don’t need critics here!”

The student, still laughing, shook her head and headed through the doors.

Professor Parkinson turned back to the children.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, welcome to Hogwarts! I’m supposed to tell you that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden – that’s why it’s called that, by the way; bet you never would’ve guessed! – and that there’s a barrier around it. It’ll shock you if you get too close and keep all those nasty man-eating spiders and arrow-firing centaurs out. Tomorrow, there’ll be a day off. The prefects in your House will guide you through school. In case you don’t remember everything – don’t fret! There’s a simple plan of Hogwarts with the classrooms indicated at the top of every staircase. If you’re ever naughty and, even worse, get _caught_ , you’ll have to clean all of them. And trust me, I speak from experience – that’s going to cost you a weekend or two. But back to the script! You’re about to get Sorted. Undoubtedly, some older sibling or cousin already told you what’s going to happen, but I think I can assure you – what they said is wrong. There will be no fighting trolls, no ridiculous tests of courage and loyalty and cleverness and cunning. Instead, it’ll be very, very boring, both to experience and to watch. But hey, it’s tradition!”

Professor Parkinson went on to explain the Sorting Hat and how its history went back to the Founders. He also described the Houses a bit, though it was very unnecessary. After all, they’d had a whole day at Primary School to prepare for their first week at Hogwarts, and most of that they’d known from tales of parents, older friends or siblings.

Finally, a bell sounded, interrupting Professor Parkinson’s very enthusiastic re-telling of his own sorting and how he’d almost taken the Sorting Hat with him as he was joining the Ravenclaw table.

He righted his appearance – his wild gesturing and the wind outside had destroyed whatever hairstyle he’d had before – and invited the students into the Great Hall with a sweeping gesture.

It was breath-taking. The ceiling was so high it looked as if there wasn’t one at all. This impression was only emphasised by the clear look at the stars and clouds. The Hall itself was shining, lit by thousands of floating candles. The four long tables, one for each House, with benches on either side were the plainest objects in the room. The teachers’ table was of finer wood and decorated with an expensive-looking tablecloth. The walls were adorned with four great murals, each showing a scene from the Founders’ life. As Puck watched, one changed from Gryffindor on a battlefield, fearlessly charging at frightening shadows, to him lovingly putting a child to bed in a show of magic that must have taken a long, long time to figure out.

The students marched up to the empty space in front of the dais where the teachers were sitting. Puck searched out Uncle Harry, who smiled at him. Puck took a deep breath, pressed his knee and looked over the other teachers for a short moment, meeting reassuring or professional faces until his attention was called to the centre of the table.

Headmaster Snape stood and made a quick announcement, “The Sorting will begin now. You all know to keep quiet and to applaud. I do not want to hear any… whooping… today.”

He shot a baleful look at the Hufflepuff table as he sat back down.

Professor Parkinson reappeared with a hat carried in his arms and a stool floating behind him. He grinned at the students.

“Well, you heard the old sourpu- I mean, the Headmaster. Does anyone want to go first, or shall we go by alphabet?”

When no-one volunteered, he produced a list and dramatically proclaimed, “And thus, we shall begin the Sorting! I am bored, so let’s start-,“ he closed his eyes, dropped his finger and read the name it had landed on, “with Byron and work our way… up, I’d say. So, Mister Byron, the Sorting Hat is all yours!”

The children exchanged commiserating looks over Lewis’ head as he walked to the front with a pale face and false bravado.

The hat was sat on his head, contemplated for a second or two and pronounced him to be a Ravenclaw. He was greeted with a heartfelt, though quiet applause as he joined their table, not forgetting to take off the hat before doing so.

On it went to Bauer, then Adler, then Abbot, the other Abbot, then Zabini, on and on until it was Puck’s turn.

He didn’t even know he was so very, very nervous until he tried to take the first step and felt frozen. Jamie kicked his leg none-too-gently and he raised his foot and put it back down in front of him and suddenly, it was very easy to walk forwards, take a seat, put the hat on his head and listen to it contemplate where to put him.

“Predominantly a Slytherin Family, I see,” it mused. “Mother, father, Godfather, Godmother – the grandparents as well! Do you also want to go to Slytherin? Will they be disappointed if you don’t?”

Puck didn’t think so. After all, his father’s best friend had once gone to Ravenclaw and his mother’s sister-in-all-but-blood had been a Gryffindor. Also, this caste system that existed in school would cease to exist at the latest after seven years, and during that time, he still had the holidays to be only Puck, not a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor.

“Indeed. You are smart, to have thought of all that. But then again, nowadays, the House is not so important anymore.” The hat sighed. “Why the children ever decided to be so caught up in the belief that one House could ever be worth more or less than another is beyond me.”

Puck could think of a few reasons – or, better said, he could remember a few of the reasons Uncle Vorlost had named during one of their afternoons together, waiting for Uncle Harry to finish grading the last set of essays. What had started as a game to make Uncle Vorlost hold a speech about another ridiculous thing – if Puck is not mistaken, he wanted to hear all the reasons for painting unicorns pink –, but it devolved into a lesson as time went on. The switch was so gradual that Puck only could tell later on when he noticed that he’d learned something that day, and not only the impracticalities of colouring unicorns.

“Uncle Vorlost,” the hat repeated, amused. “That man changes names quite often, doesn’t he? But, anyway, we’re not here to talk about old acquaintances, but about where to Sort you! Do you have a preference?”

Puck did not, though he was quite confused that he was even asked. Was it not the hat’s job to tell him where he fit best?

“That is true, of course. But it’s not only important to know where you could fit in, but also to find out where you _want_ to be. I didn’t ask that the last century because of all those prejudices that arose from no-where, but now that the students don’t always want to be Sorted into the House that their parents had been in, it makes sense to enquire again. So, what do you think?”

Puck took a moment to consider the question seriously. All his Family had been in Slytherin, from his grandparents to his parents to Uncle Harry and Uncle Vorlost. But all of his school friends had been scattered throughout all of Hogwarts, and he cared more about staying friends with them than following in his parents’ footsteps. So he didn’t necessarily need to be Sorted into Slytherin. Actually, now that he thought about it, he didn’t think he had the right personality for it, either. He wasn’t cunning and charming, the way Uncle Vorlost was. He wasn’t wise and authoritative like his father. He wasn’t out to gossip and find all sorts of weaknesses against friends and foes alike to be used whenever he so pleased or it was needed – that was his mother, not him. And even Uncle Harry – he was so ambitious sometimes, wanting nothing but the best for his family and students, and so help him Merlin, he was going to get the best for them, even if he had to use the most underhanded tactics that even Uncle Vorlost didn’t think of. Puck didn’t have that core of iron, the unwavering will, the determination to go to any lengths to get what he wanted.

And all those little power plays that his parents’ Slytherin friends constantly put on were tedious. It was amazing to see them shot down by a single sentence his father uttered after a few seconds of consideration, or the way his mother just needed to grin and ask a pointed question, or the smile Uncle Harry directed at them until they fell silent, ashamed and discomfited, or the one eyebrow Uncle Vorlost had to raise to make them bow and almost run away.

Nonetheless, Puck himself wanted nothing to do with all of that. He didn’t want to be someone against whom other people tried those power plays, and being Uncle Harry’s Godson would bring him enough attention, at least in Hogwarts where people thought he could help them get out of trouble with his “connections”.

Puck knew better. If he tried, he’d only land in trouble himself. Not many could out-manoeuvre Uncle Harry, and especially not school children. He smelled a child’s lie from a mile away and firmly believed that moderate punishment bettered the character. Many of the students were Heirs to noble and important Families who’d never in their lives been punished, and Puck always thought that Uncle Harry spoke with a certain kind of pleasure when he talked about them being punished for bullying or using bad words or talking back.

Both his father and Uncle Vorlost agreed with Uncle Harry that a wrong had to be punished so that it wouldn’t be repeated, so that idea was most definitely true. But that also meant that trying to get out of punishment wouldn’t only fail, but also that it would most definitely worsen the penalty.

Did the very thought that he’d rather face the punishment head on than try to get out of it disqualify him for Slytherin?

“No,” the hat spoke, surprising Puck who’d forgotten about its presence. “Slytherins try not to get caught. They also don’t fight losing battles. Anyone with an ounce of sense wouldn’t try to go against your Uncle Harry’s word. He is strict, but fair, and a Slytherin would recognise that.”

Still, Puck didn’t think that he would be a good fit for House Slytherin. Uncle Harry had once told him that Slytherins often had edges and sharp lines that they hid from the world. It would be so easy to be cut, Puck thought, or to do harm without meaning to. The number of formerly abused children – that meant children who were treated badly by their parents, his mother explained – in Slytherin, Uncle Vorlost had shown him, far exceeded any in the other Houses, and while Puck could step carefully and mindfully, he could only do so with theoretical understanding in the expectation that he would receive kindness in turn.

Most Slytherins probably wouldn’t be nice to him. By that, he didn’t mean that they would exclude him or be mean to him, but most simply didn’t know _how_ to be kind and friendly. Slytherins were always so cold-hearted and mask-faced, the stereotype said, and it took a long time for them to thaw and be open.

Puck didn’t have any ice that needed to melt. He wore his feelings without shame, though he did know how to hide them – otherwise, he wouldn’t have survived his ever-teasing mother.

So, no, Slytherin wouldn’t be a good fit for him.

What about Ravenclaw, then? House of the clever, it was said, or House of the bookworms.

Well, Puck liked reading, and he liked knowing things, but he didn’t like thinking deeply. He rather enjoyed trying things out, but wasn’t curious enough to keep going when he failed until he succeeded and then to try and figure out why he’d been unsuccessful in the first place. He was content with explanations and rules; he didn’t need to question them and try to find out the how and why. If he wanted to know something, his first thought wasn’t to hit the library or try it again and again. Instead, he went to his parents or Uncle Harry or, if he had the time, Uncle Vorlost.

Not Ravenclaw either, then.

That left Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.

Puck immediately had to think about Uncle Harry’s Godfather, Sirius Black. The man had stood against his Family, _left_ his Family, had been disinherited for it. Still, he stood by his friends loyally, admirably so, even when they attracted the ire of a Dark Lord. He had the courage to leave in the middle of a fight because it was what had been best for him. He withstood a decade of torment in Azkaban when it still held Dementors, and still strode forwards bravely, fighting for what he thought was right.

No, Puck was not a Gryffindor. He was way too cowardly or, as Uncle Vorlost liked to say, keen on his survival for that.

Only Hufflepuff remained.

What did Hufflepuff stand for? Loyalty, hard work? Puck could work hard. He even liked it, the feeling when he was done and had accomplished something, when he could take a look back and see all that he’d made. He loved playing in the garden and weeding the vegetable beds. He didn’t enjoy cleaning up behind his siblings, but he loved seeing sparkling rooms as his reward. The pile of read books next to his bed filled him with more joy than the mountain of unread ones. He liked drawing und watching the house elves cook. So he’d say he enjoyed hard work – or, better said, the fulfilment of having done hard work.

What about loyalty? Well, there was a reason his younger siblings called him “Bear” instead of by his name, and if asked about it, his mother would claim it had absolutely nothing to do with her calling him “mama bear” whenever she saw him watch over them. And having friends who would stand by him as he did to them, through easy and tough times? Morgana yeah, write him up for that!

So, Puck concluded, the House he fit best would be Hufflepuff.

“I think so, too,” the hat said. “Though I do disagree with you saying so resolutely that you wouldn’t fit in anywhere else.”

Though Puck doubted that somewhat, he was sure that the hat knew better – it had Sorted more people than he’d ever know and been Sorting for longer than the age of all the people he knew added up.

The hat laughed a bit. “Yes, I can definitely see your Godfather in you. Well then, enjoy your time in Hufflepuff!”

It shouted the last word out loud.

Applause greeted Puck alongside candlelight as the hat was lifted off his head. They had talked for so long that it was too bright in his eyes. He quickly made his way to his House table, trying not to draw even more attention. He’d had no idea that the conversation had carried on for such a lengthy time. No-one else had taken so long!

He was welcomed kindly and loudly, and when he looked up to the teacher table, Uncle Harry nodded to him with laughter and satisfaction in his eyes so that he didn’t have to guess who’d won the little bet between Uncle Vorlost and Uncle Harry.

Puck smiled wildly – that meant a cut of the chocolaty prize for him!

In a better mood, he clapped loudly for the newest Hufflepuff.

In the end, what happens to Puck is the same as what happens to all new Hogwarts students.

He got lost a lot, made new friends, grew apart from old friends, cursed certain teachers, loved others, was swamped with homework and went to the library more often than he wanted to. He missed his parents and siblings, even his annoying sister who couldn’t do anything but cry and poop her nappies. He missed lazing around uselessly because homework had been done so quickly in primary school. He even missed the awful concoctions his mother called food when the fancy struck, and that’s when he knew that he caught a bad case of homesickness.

He at least still had Uncle Harry, in stark difference to his fellow firsties.

They spent a lot of time together. While Puck had taken to calling his Godfather “Professor Harry” like the other students, he reverted back to his usual address when they were in private. He spent a lot of time complaining about the mountains of homework he had to complete each week, about the strictest teacher and the one whose teaching style could be called “do whatever you want and your homework”, about how much he missed his parents.

Uncle Harry just smiled wistfully and asked if he should bring them a letter, having been invited to a soiree that weekend.

Puck was jealous for a moment.

Then, Uncle Harry said, “While I do look forward to seeing Vorlost again, I could do without his politician minions. Your father is the only one of them who I can stand, but they all still want to annoy me with their petty little problems and narrow-minded opinions. It’s ghastly, I tell you, Puck. Never go into politics. Do whatever you want, but don’t go into politics.”

And suddenly, Puck was not jealous at all. He’d only been at one such gathering and had immediately decided that it would be his last.

Feeling petty, he gave Uncle Harry a long letter to his parents and shorter ones to his siblings and wished him a good evening that Saturday.

It was worth seeing that grimace.

But, as happens with all students, Puck got used to Hogwarts, even beginning to like it. The food was great, especially after the holidays when he could compare it clearly to the welcome-home-dinner-like charred thing his mother had made for him. The homework gave him greater understanding of magic and helped him prepare for tests. His new friends were closer to him than the ones he’d grown apart from, leading to closer relationships. He started receiving clumsily written responses to the letters to his siblings, making him feel closer to them. Also, he got to lord over them that he already went to Hogwarts and they did not, which also was awesome. He spent more time with Uncle Harry, even if it was just sitting together in silence, both hard at work with essays.

The first year passed quickly, as did the second. After the first semester, he had a consultation with a specifically trained teacher, discussing what electives he should choose based on his plans for the future, prior grades and strengths. Care for Creatures was an easy fit, having already fascinated him in the basic form they’d had in primary school. He loves those little cretins and much prefers them to human children, thank you very much, Mom, sorry I’m not going to make you a grandmother, and shouldn’t you be content with the three grandkids you have and why are you pouting now about not having more victims to tease?

The second one was harder. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, for all that Uncle Harry was proficient in both, sounded way too hard and incomprehensible for him. In primary school, he’d got average grades at best in Basic Arithmancy. He understood the calculations, but he always switched around the numbers in the more complicated ones. The less said about the exam where the variable “a” somehow was turned into a 9, the better.

Ancient Runes sounded like there is a lot of studying involved in it. Objects are described not in numbers, as is the case with Arithmancy, but with words. Each word has a corresponding Rune or Rune sequence, but each of those Runes can mean more than one thing, especially so with Rune sequences. These Runes must then be combined in a way that stops them from cancelling each other out or changing the meaning of the whole phrase. This phrase must then be placed on or around the affected object. For this, it is very important that no Rune is smutched or copied incorrectly as that could lead to very different results, and the order in which the Runes are written and their placement and the material they are written on and the material they are written with all play important roles. That all sounded way too complicated for Puck.

Muggle Studies, then? But it wasn’t like he wanted to work as a liaison between the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds, observing the developments and discoveries in the Muggle world and relating them back to the Muggle Council who’d then pass the important bits on to the Dark Lord and the Wizengamot for discussion. From what Uncle Harry had said, it sounded like it was undercover work and being a paper-pusher in turns. Besides, Puck wasn’t curious enough about Muggles to need to go further in-depth than he’d go during Muggle Basics in primary school and Muggle Studies Overview that he’d have to take in sixth year if he didn’t choose Muggle Studies now. So that was out, too.

That left Dark Magic. They did learn beginner spells during the normal curriculum, but in this elective, more focus was put on it. The class goes into greater detail about the history of Dark Magic, the differences to Light Magic and Dark spells. It also explores the differences between a Dark spell and its Light equivalent and their effects. It sounded alright to Puck, even interesting, and the counsellor agreed with his choice. She added that, if Puck wished to pursue a career that had to do with Magical Creatures in any way, this elective would aid him greatly.

So, next to his core classes of Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, History, Defence, Astronomy and Herbology, he took Dark Magic and Care for Creatures. Dark Magic was fascinating right off the bat, giving the basics and then diving deep into the analysis of the Light and Dark spells used to lift something before returning to theory. Each lesson followed a scheme. First, the students would turn in their essays. Then, the professor would go over the next part of the theory. She’d teach them a Dark spell that they knew the Light equivalent of and let them practice until they got it or were assigned additional supervised practice time that evening. She’d then compare the Dark to the Light spell and explain their differences. Finally, she’d hand out the corrected homework, go over any mistakes, take questions and give another assignment.

It was fun.

Care for Creatures not so much.

The first year, they only learned facts about magical creatures and only took care of magicless animals. It still was interesting, of course, and Puck understood that it was better to learn how to touch an animal gently if it could only hop away or scratch you and not inject you with its poison. That didn’t make it any more exciting. The next year, they finally did get to look after magical creatures, and suddenly, all the boring theory lessons and Flubberworms were worth it.

The next important event happened when Puck was thirteen.

He wanted to surprise Uncle Harry and had gone to Uncle Vorlost’s mansion to visit. The plan had gone off without a hitch – Puck had snuck out, taken the Knight Bus, paid with pocket money, got out at a random restaurant, paid to use the Floo, landed in the village closest to Uncle Vorlost’s mansion and asked Pretty to get him through the wards.

Normally, he did all that with his parents or Uncle Harry, on one memorable occasion even with Uncle Vorlost, but he was adult enough to do it on his own, now. He even had a wand! That’s practically half an adult already!

So, Pretty let him in, as usual, and Puck walked inside and took a seat in the reception room, as usual. No-one greeted him, which was a bit weird, but he figured that his uncles were busy.

He didn’t think that anymore after having waited an eternity. His watch may have told him ten minutes, but it was longer, honest!

So he went in search of Uncle Harry. Figuring he’d start with Uncle Harry’s office, he started walking. He stopped when he passed Uncle Vorlost’s office, uncertain if he should check if at least he was home. Maybe Uncle Harry was with him, or he’s know where he was.

Then, Puck heard it.

A _moan_.

It took a moment and another hoarse groan before his cheeks grew red and he turned on his heel.

He couldn’t look either of his uncles in the eye for a whole week after that and even had to endure an awkward conversation with Uncle Harry.

Since then, Puck has always, always given notice of his visit. That was scarring enough for one life, thank you very much.

Puck’s classes and the time spent with Uncle Harry stayed constant until fifth year. As is custom, the classes slowly switched over to the teachers who taught the higher courses in fourth year until they completely took over in the second semester. The teachers weren’t complete strangers, of course, since they’d substituted before and this gentle change had been initiated in the second semester of third year with the “new” teachers taking over a day a week or a week a month, but the students weren’t as used to these professors. It made sense to switch teachers since it would be madness to make one teacher teach seven to fourteen classes, depending on the number of students, and it was obviously a great idea to leave the more specialised and complicated areas to professors who specialised in exactly those areas but who had difficulties relating the basics to completely ignorant children.

Still, Puck missed Uncle Harry and his class. He only noticed how much he came to depend on his Godfather and his lessons as well as his no-nonsense but friendly and kind teaching when he instead had to listen to the maybe, but probably not more educated teacher drone on a bit confusedly. At least Uncle Harry held the supplementary lessons for Defence that were meant to review what they learned in class. It was only held twice a week in the evening, but almost all students went there though attendance was voluntary.

Uncle Harry simply was the superior teacher, no questions asked.

In January, Puck had another meeting with a counsellor. They talked about what subjects he wanted to continue. Care for Creatures was a given, as was Dark Magic and Defence. He’d take Potions, as well, if he got a good enough grade. History and Astronomy, interesting though they could be in parts, were too boring for him. Herbology seemed like a good fit for both Potions and Care for Creatures, so he’d take that as well next year. Charms and Transfiguration, on the other hand, would go into a lot more depth than he wanted to know about, so they were out. He also had to take one year of Muggle Studies Overview. That left him with six classes, so he had to add at least one elective.

These electives, unlike the ones from third year upwards, were a lot more specialised. It was possible to take up one of the electives offered earlier, though uncommon because no-one wanted to sit in a class with third years. Otherwise, most of them were a combination of two subjects and required a good enough OWL grade in both classes. Some of these were out from the very beginning because Puck hadn’t chosen the necessary elective in third year. One of such classes was Muggle Charms that included charms that would keep a wizard or witch from sticking out in a Muggle neighbourhood, ease their life in ways Muggles wouldn’t detect or robbed a Muggle’s suspicions about someone having magic. Another class was Divination, but only very few students were ever accepted. A few rituals later, Puck knew he didn’t have any Seer talent, deleting that option.

Even with his choices drastically reduced, it still was hard to choose. Especially one class that was geared towards future potioneers who wanted to grow and raise their own ingredients sounded fascinating, and one that combined Dark Magic and Defence to see which defensive and offensive spell worked better in a specific scenario. Then, there was also Duelling, which Uncle Harry taught in combination with the other Defence and Dark Magic teachers and trained professionals. Even Aurors dropped by occasionally!

He couldn’t take all three classes, Puck knew. The last two years would be brutal enough without him intentionally making it worse. But he couldn’t choose!

The counsellor finally told him that he could make Homemade Potions count for both Potions and Herbology, if he wanted to, and Dark Defence for Dark Magic and Defence. He chose to drop Dark Magic and Defence with its chaotic teacher for Dark Defence which was taught by the more competent, even if very strict Dark Magic professor he’d got along well these past months, knocking his total classes back to a manageable six.

She smiled at the sigh of relief that left him, so it probably was a pretty common problem, not being able to choose. And now he’d have a class with Uncle Harry again, and maybe even see him duel. That would be awesome! His mother sometimes teased Uncle Harry about his talents and asked very suggestively if he and Uncle Vorlost played “like that” sometimes.

Uncle Harry hadn’t given her an answer either way yet, and Puck for his part was glad for it.

He did not need to know that Uncle Harry and Uncle Vorlost were not sexless entities, much less get any details about their love life, thank you very much.

Otherwise, school went on like normal. Puck wrote to his siblings and parents, hung out with his friends, met up with Uncle Harry and did his homework.

That changed in the spring semester. Puck had to cut back on a lot of social interactions and hobbies to handle the increasingly ridiculous amounts of homework and revise for the OWL exams.

Let it be said – the more important the exam, the less fun it was.

And then, suddenly, the stress was over.

That summer, Puck did about nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It was glorious.

Uncle Harry came to visit a lot, partly because he’d missed Puck and his family, partly because Puck’s oldest younger brother would start Hogwarts that year and was a bit nervous, partly because Uncle Vorlost hosted a lot of political get-togethers that Uncle Harry tried to flee from whenever possible.

When Puck’s father started doing the same, Uncle Harry gathered up all the children that wanted to and got them out of there.

On one of those outings, this time to a strawberry field where the children were encouraged to eat as much of them as they wanted to, their group met another, led by Arville and Rowan, Harry’s close friends. They got talking and their groups meshed.

It turned out that Arville and Rowan were babysitting children who normally went to Rosehip Primary School, situated on the other side of Britain from Primrose Primary School. They were supported by some long-suffering older siblings.

This was how, age fifteen, Puck found his soulmate in a spitfire girl by the name of Tatiana. She smiled at him and he smiled at her and then, he said, “Don’t take another step forward!”

Tatiana believed that he was talking to her and froze when really, he was talking to his younger sister who was about to run through a neat row of ripe strawberry plants.

They paused for a second and Puck awkwardly apologised.

Then, Tatiana snorted, lifted up her sleeve and pulled down her bracelet. Puck read the words written there in disbelief, then scrambled to reveal the very same words written on his wrist.

“Well… Hello,” he said, for lack of anything other.

She shook her head, held out her hand and said, “Let’s get to know each other properly somewhere else without an audience.”

Puck turned to Uncle Harry, who smiled and nodded, and to his siblings. Brianna was pouting because now, she wasn’t the only one to have found her soulmate, though she was completely silly. Irmgard was the cutest little girl Puck had ever seen, and he said that having three sisters, _and_ though she’d met her even before starting primary school. So she had nothing at all to be jealous of!

The others just waved him off, probably glad to spend some time with Uncle Harry without him.

Yes, he had the best Godfather out of all of them.

No, he did not lord it over his siblings.

Too often.

Tatiana Apparated them to a little village not far off. She explained that she’d grown up there and that the little café had the best coffee in all of Britain. Having tasted it, Puck had to agree.

During the next hours, they got to know each other.

Tatiana was a seventh year at Hogwarts and had already passed her Apparation exam. She was almost two years older than Puck, having been born a few days after the cut-off date that started the new school year. She wanted to be a historian after she graduated and had chosen her classes accordingly, especially interested in the Dark Lord’s takeover and analysing where Grindelwald had failed. Such recent history and such a problematic topic meant that she would have to get a high clearance to gain permission to interview high-ranking Death Eaters and to be allowed insight into restricted sources. This meant that she had to graduate with high grades and make a name for herself before sending a proposal to the Dark Lord who would then either allow her research or reject her request.

She was confident that it would be approved. After all, she would need at least ten years of hard work to acquire enough prominence that she could attempt it, and by then, the end of the battle against the Order of the Phoenix would have happened almost thirty years ago. She also had some connections as her mother was a Death Eater, though not of high rank.

They spent the rest of the day talking about school, mostly complaining about the weekend classes where a lot of the electives were held to guarantee that everyone who’d chosen a class could also attend it, and about little siblings who went to the same school and thought that they would have any time to pay attention to them when they had so much studying and homework to do that they were happy they found the time and energy to eat and sleep.

The next day, Tatiana and Puck met again, and the next day, and the next. It took a week for Puck’s mother to become so curious she threatened to tag along if he didn’t bring his soulmate to meet the family, so he did.

Needless to say, Diana teased Puck a lot, so much that his siblings took pity on him and ran interference to get their mother away from Tatiana and the naked baby photos. Brianna even went to get Uncle Harry.

That’s how bad it was.

Even now, Puck blushes in second-hand embarrassment and cringes just remembering.

And that is how Tatiana met the in-laws and got to know their weirdness very, very well from the very beginning.

Being soulmates, Tatiana and Puck met up often and get to know each other well and finally, well, they kissed, solidifying their bond.

It was the most amazing moment of Puck’s life. The first shy press of dry lips against another pair, the growing connection between them, the moment something in his chest sprang open, gave something intrinsically _him_ and took something intrinsically _her_ and bound them for all eternity. Though not a slouch himself, Puck felt his magical prowess explode as Tatiana’s magic was added to his.

Afterwards, they clung to each other, panting with silly smiles on their faces. They pressed kisses to each other’s cheeks, foreheads, lips, any skin they could reach.

Later on, Puck’s mother threw a party and Uncle Harry laughed at his mortification.

Then came the time of the first argument.

It was about something stupid that Puck doesn’t even remember anymore. Maybe the fact that they had to keep cancelling dates because they were saddled with babysitting duty? Maybe that Tatiana hadn’t invited Puck over to her place yet? Maybe that Puck’s mother was all too curious about their love life and kept bothering both of them about sordid details every time she saw them?

Anyway, they argued.

They argued terribly.

In the end, Tatiana stormed away in tears and Puck ran to Uncle Harry to pout about the unfairness of it all.

The next morning, Uncle Harry gave him a mug of hot chocolate and made him talk about his problems. It was horrifying when he started sobbing about having screwed it all up and Tatiana hating him and what if she never wanted to see him again?

Uncle Harry reassured him and said, “If Vorlost and I don’t tear each other to pieces during our arguments, you won’t either, trust me.”

Puck’s eyes grew huge. “You and Uncle Vorlost argue? Really?”

Uncle Harry laughed. “We sure do. Every couple does, believe me.”

“Even my parents?” Puck set down his mug of hot chocolate. He of course knew that everyone has disagreements, but Uncle Harry and Uncle Vorlost always seem so in love and balanced. It came as a great surprise to find out that they were normal human beings just like everyone else.

Uncle Harry giggled into his cup of tea. “Oh yes. Quite often. When your parents have a spat, they call me over to your house and go out. Your father thinks about some solvable problem other than the argument and Diana goes partying with her friends. When they meet up again, they talk it out and… reacquaint themselves afterwards.”

Puck blushed as the meaning behind that last part got clear. Suddenly, a lot of Uncle Harry’s late-night visits showed themselves in a completely different light.

After a long silence, Puck hesitatingly asked, “So you think that Tatiana and I will be okay?”

Uncle Harry ruffled his hair. “Of course you’ll be fine! Don’t worry.”

As usual, Uncle Harry was right.

Giving them both a day to cool off, as he had recommended, Puck sent Tatiana an apology letter the next morning. She came to visit an hour later, very sorry for her own part in the argument. They held each other for a long, long time until Puck told Tatiana about the traumatising “news” Uncle Harry had shared with him about his parents, and Tatiana laughed until she almost cried again.

After that, they quickly became more secure in their relationship, even if that also meant that they argued more often.

Tatiana went to her mother to complain and cry and Puck to Uncle Harry to stew in his anger and hurt. They didn’t see each other for a day or two until one of them sent a letter when they’d calmed down. The other came for a visit when they felt ready. Then, they cuddled and didn’t let each other go for an hour or two while they talked about it.

And so it came that Puck’s mother liked to joke that the two of them would burn Hogwarts down in one of their spits and that they tempted all others to do so with their disgustingly cute kissing and hugging and hand-holding.

Going by the threats of their younger siblings at school, she wasn’t far off. But it would at least give the students some practice and excitement, right?

Puck wholeheartedly agreed with Tatiana’s statement and held her hand a little tighter.

And so it comes to now.

Puck sits in Uncle Harry’s office, bemoaning that Tatiana graduated last summer and that he’s already bored and that there’s so much homework to do and a letter a week is not enough of Tatiana, but she’s also so busy.

Basically, he’s a lovesick fool. If he were not currently being a lovesick fool, he’d know and be ashamed of it, but he’s caught up in hormones and teenage angst. He’ll cringe about it tomorrow.

Uncle Harry listens to him without comment, marking his essays on the side and humming from time to time to show that he’s still listening. He’s frowning sometimes as he looks at the parchment, putting some essays to the side entirely, grumbling each time.

Finally, he interrupts Puck.

“Your father’s soiree is next month,” he says meaningfully.

Puck buries his face in his arms and sinks deeper into the couch Uncle Harry’s put in his office only for him. “So?”

“So,” Uncle Harry says as if he expected Puck to get this, “you can get out of Hogwarts for Family obligations that fall on a time slot where you have no classes. You don’t have classes on Sunday afternoons, so you’d only need to return before your Monday morning class and be fine.”

“Why would I want to go to a soiree?”

Patiently, the way he talks to particularly dim students, Uncle Harry explains, “Your soulmate is studying to be a historian. She wants to investigate quite sensitive topics. Therefore, she needs access to people with good connections. As such, your father’s soiree is perfect for her. She cannot go there alone, so you have to accompany her and help her navigate those dangerous interactions. You don’t like having them, I know, but you grew up with them.”

Slowly, Puck rises from his slouched position. “Did you just tell me an excuse to go on a date, Uncle Harry?”

Uncle Harry raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to suffer through another afternoon of you mooning over a girl you can see during the Hogsmeade weekends every second week.”

Puck’s mouth falls open. “Oh Merlin, we could do that! Thank you, Uncle Harry!”

The next day, Puck sends out a letter to his father and the next day, an invitation to Tatiana.

“And? How was it?” Uncle Harry asks after the soiree.

Puck makes a grimace. “Horrible. I mean, it was awesome to see Tatiana again, but I didn’t miss those sharks at all. I guess I’ll have to go there again for her, but I don’t think I’ll ever like it.”

“Oh thank Merlin,” Uncle Harry sighs. “As I’ve said before, Puck: no politics. Do whatever you want. You could even stage a rebellion against the current regime. Yes, Puck, do that and stay far away from all politicians.”

Confused and slightly terrified, Puck repeats, “Stage a rebellion? Against the Dark Lord?”

“Sure,” Uncle Harry continues as if he didn’t just say something that can be punished by _banishment_. “He needs something to keep him busy.”

“Uncle Harry!”

Puck is terrified for his Godfather, but also slightly impressed. Not everyone has the courage to talk so nonplussed about organising a coup-d’état and risking lifelong imprisonment in Azkaban.

“What?”

“Aren’t you afraid of Him? How can you say something like that?”

Uncle Harry blinks at him, confused. “Of course I’m not afraid. Why would you think that?”

“Because he’s the _Dark Lord_! Uncle Harry! How can you not know what you’re risking?” Puck has risen in his agitation and looks down on Uncle Harry. “You committing treason could put all of your students under suspicion!”

His words are punctuated with a loud slap as he slams his hands on the desk.

Through his heavy breaths, he can’t hear Uncle Harry’s laugh, but he can see his shaking shoulders and grin just fine. Just as he wants to demand if his Godfather has gone insane, Uncle Harry stops and wonders, “Do you really not know?” Suddenly a bit white in the face, he scrutinises Puck. “How can you not know, Puck? Think this through with me. The Dark Lord has taken control of this country, right? So he’s in a position of power. Like, say, the Minister, the most powerful position even before he took over?”

Uncle Harry waits patiently as the Knut finally drops.

“Uncle Vorlost is the Dark Lord?!” Puck exclaims, shocked.

Uncle Harry looks at him in concern.

Puck sinks down on the floor, re-considering his whole life. So that’s why Uncle Vorlost kept asking about the new curriculum and the conduct of the professors. That’s why he knows the answer to practically everything. That’s why Tatiana didn’t believe Puck at first when he said he knows Uncle Vorlost very well. That’s why his siblings started behaving weirdly around Uncle Vorlost as they grew up until Uncle Harry took them aside to have a talk with them. That’s why so many people want to curry favour with Uncle Harry and Puck’s father.

In hindsight, it’s kind of obvious.

But Puck can’t help it! He’s never been very bright in that aspect, connecting threads and making logical jumps between seemingly unrelated information.

He’s the hardworking Hufflepuff, not the smart Ravenclaw or the secret-seeking Slytherin, nor did he go to Gryffindor where every rumour is believed and more outlandish than the last. He doesn’t care about political intrigue or shifting power structures or a powerful enemy to fight. He wants to live happily with his family and friends.

 _Of course_ he didn’t get it! _Of course_ he didn’t see it! He _never_ sees things like that!

And so comes the first time Puck screams at Uncle Harry.

And so comes also the first time Puck ignores Uncle Harry.

A week later, Uncle Vorlost – the _Dark Lord_ comes to visit the Duelling Class. The others all start whispering furiously, some about the the Minister being here, others about the amazing spells he’ll show them.

Uncle Harry introduces the Dark Lord with a cautious look in Puck’s direction.

Puck turns away.

“Do not concern yourselves with me today,” the Dark Lord says after graciously thanking Uncle Harry for the introduction. “I merely wish to observe. Next week, we will gather all your interested colleagues and schoolmates and Professor Harry and I will duel.”

And he does.

He ignores the whispers and giggles, the glares and awkward attempts to pay no attention to him, the boasting and the showing off. He watches the duels with the kind of seriousness that is usually reserved for press conferences.

Uncle Harry, meanwhile, is going from student to student, helping and advising as he always is. It almost looks like he and Uncle Vorlost don’t know each other.

Puck frowns, worried that they had an argument, before he shakes his head determinedly.

He does not care.

With a smile, he turns back to his classmates.

“Hey, Jonathan, you wanna have a go?”

Class goes by relatively uneventful, all in all. Uncle V- The Dark Lord watches, Uncle Harry teaches, the students duel and argue and laugh and fool around.

When the bell rings and Puck is about to leave, the Dark Lord calls out to him.

“Mister Goodfellow,” he says loudly enough that Puck can’t pretend he didn’t hear him, “if you would give me a minute of your time?”

His friends give exaggerated groans of horror and hit his shoulders. “Yes, Puck, go on, talk to the Minister!”

Laughing, they leave, and slowly, the room empties. Uncle Vorlost nods at Puck and guides them to a little room by the side. Though it is normally bare, a small table with two chairs fills it now.

The Dark Lord cants his head at one chair. Puck follows the unspoken command and sits. Uncle Vorlost takes the other chair, putting his hands on the table and stapling his fingers, his eyes dark and intent on Puck.

The silence goes on and on as Puck grows more and more uncomfortable. Still, he doesn’t speak. He knows what Uncle Vorlost is like.

When he is angry, you sit tight and be quiet and wait for the storm to pass.

“Nepomuk,” Uncle Vorlost says and damn is he furious if he’s using Puck’s full name. Nobody does. Puck didn’t even know that Puck wasn’t his birthname until he started school, and even then, the stuffy old “Nepomuk” was quickly discarded.

Another silence follows. Puck studiously avoids eye contact until he can’t stand the tension anymore and looks up.

Uncle Vorlost is looking at him, disappointment clear in his eyes.

Puck looks down again.

“As I have heard, you have made some discoveries lately that have greatly shocked you. Instead of talking about the implications and troubles this revelation has brought with it, however, you have chosen to pout and throw a temper tantrum like a toddler. This is unacceptable.”

Another silence as Uncle Vorlost waits for some reaction, any reaction.

Puck can’t say anything.

Finally, Uncle Vorlost gives in. “This is understandable, I can imagine, and it certainly feels so for you. Otherwise, you would not act this way, would you?”

Puck wraps his arms around himself.

In a quiet voice, Uncle Vorlost continues, “You have made my Harry cry.”

Horrified, Puck feels tears well up in his eyes. He’s never heard of Uncle Harry crying. Not when Brianna had upset the Hippogriff by accident and it lashed out in fear, hitting Uncle Harry as he went to protect her. Not when Uncle Vorlost had to miss their date for the third time in a row because of Ministry business even though Uncle Harry couldn’t talk about anything else for the whole afternoon, much to young Puck’s chagrin. Not when a random witch had run up to him, accused him of being a traitor and murderer and did so by using such vile language that Puck’s mother had threatened to Obliviate the memory from his mind.

Obviously forcing himself to be nonchalant, Uncle Vorlost continues. “Normally, I’d have the reason behind Harry’s pain strung up in my dungeons, but that would only make him cry more in this case. I also find myself oddly hesitant to harm you. Mind you that my reluctance will disappear if you do not desist this childish behaviour _immediately_. If you need to be angry at someone, be angry at me. Hate me for all I care, but I dare you, Puck, stop hurting your Godfather.”

And this, truly, is the first time that Puck doesn’t see Uncle Vorlost in the familiar face with the creepy red eyes, but the Dark Lord. He is quaking in the presence of such violence, such power, and still cannot move for fear of making it worse.

Then, suddenly, the pressure is gone and the Dark Lord has disappeared.

Uncle Vorlost sighs. “Do stop looking so terrified, child. You know I could never hurt you. I’m sure you have questions. This would be the time for them.”

He waits patiently as Puck gathers his wits again, and asks one of the Hogwarts house elves for mugs of hot chocolate.

As they sip, Uncle Vorlost with a mien of distaste as he hates everything sweet, words slowly find Puck again, and with them answers.

His family and Godparents and friends and possibly just about everyone, really, didn’t try to trick him. It was decided early on that none of the children would be told, not even Uncle Harry’s Godson, as the adults feared that someone might harm the kids for their knowledge. It is not commonly known that Uncle Vorlost is the Dark Lord, though most people certainly suspect it. Only Death Eaters and high-ranking and highly regarded Ministry workers know officially. The deception was made possible because almost no-one knows that Uncle Vorlost lost some kind of unspecified “taint of Dark Magic”; that’s why nobody would expect the Dark Lord to look so human. About as many people know without doubt that Uncle Harry is Uncle Vorlost’s soulmate. Uncle Harry wants to stay out of the spotlight, and Uncle Vorlost respects that. There also is the question of safety as Uncle Harry would never allow himself to be guarded by bodyguards and Uncle Vorlost would never rest easy with the knowledge that any assassin could easily go after his soulmate. So, to the public, Uncle Harry is Uncle Vorlost’s close friend and the soulmate of Uncle Vorlost’s best friend, who spends most of his time locked up in some library as researchers are wont to do.

Uncle Harry and Uncle Vorlost had also believed that Puck was already aware of Uncle Vorlost’s… true? former? job. There was a period of time when he avoided Uncle Vorlost at all cost and wouldn’t look Uncle Harry in the eye. Apparently, Uncle Harry talked to him and asked if he was alright with what he’d found out and that they both still were the same people as he’d known them before and that this knowledge didn’t change anything.

Mortified, Puck has to confess that he’d accidently made himself aware that Uncle Harry and Uncle Vorlost enjoy each other in the way couples do and that he’d thought that Pretty had told them about his surprise visit and quick flight back home and that that conversation had been about that.

Uncle Vorlost stares at him like he can’t believe what Puck’s just said, then closes his eyes and breathes out a deep, controlled breath. Determined to ignore Puck’s words, he quickly goes on to say that they would have told Puck, of course, probably once he’d graduated, if they had known that he hadn’t known. Or maybe someone of those sheer endless people trying to curry favour would have told him before then, now that he’s almost of age and becoming a potential political steppingstone.

That reminds Puck that Uncle Harry is not publicly Uncle Vorlost’s soulmate. He brings up the random strangers who approach Uncle Harry basically all the time and that witch that once yelled at him, and wants to know, “If no-one basically knows, how could they?”

Uncle Vorlost sighs deeply, grumbling, “Of course you also don’t know this.”

With a deep breath and firm look into Puck’s eyes, he says, “Do you know your Godfather’s last name?”

Mute, Puck shakes his head. Now that he’s thinking about it, isn’t it weird to know someone for years and years and not know their Family name, especially in the Wizarding World where Family is everything? Why has he never thought to question that everyone is “Professor Parkinson” and “Headmaster Snape”, but Uncle Harry is just “Professor Harry”?

Quick, like stealing a Niffler treasure, Uncle Vorlost says, “Potter. His Family name is Potter.”

Potter. Puck’s heard that before, he’s sure. In history books? Well, yes, there’s Hieronymus Potter who fought and died in the Second Goblin War, but took the three highest-ranking generals with him. And Potions, he thinks? Gabriella Potter who tamed some sort of plant and cut it in a way that made brewing easier back in the 1840’s. But there’s something he’s missing, obviously. Maybe the Family was a great supporter of the Dark Lord and that’s how he knows the name?

What was Tatiana telling him about again? They’d met each other in the Shog’s Head. The pub had newly opened, even though its exterior looked like it’d been, for years and years, that washed-out green with that wooden board with the shop name painted on haphazardly. But the interior had been clean and the barwoman, a nice if a little stiff lady called Long Susan, had served them quickly and without unnecessary small talk. And Puck had drank the tea that honestly would have been better without the shot of Rum in it, thank you for asking, Long Susan, and listened as Tatiana talked herself hoarse, cheeks getting more and more rosy, gesticulating widely enough she almost knocked over her glass of an alcohol-free cocktail with alcohol.

Yes, she’d also talked about a Potter. Something about the Saviour of the Light? Who kind of sucked at playing his part in the war and made the very sensible decision of not opposing the Dark Lord? There was also another title she used, and that had sparked a glimmer of recognition, a title also used by those Light fanatics over in Gryffindor, bemoaning the unfortunate loss of…

“The Boy-Who-Lived!” Puck gasps.

Uncle Vorlost grimaces. “Do not call Harry that unless you want to upset him.”

“What?” In complete disbelief, Puck gapes at him. “Really? But the Boy-Who-Lived was born to oppose you!”

Uncle Vorlost taps his wrist wryly. “Not quite.”

“But he was killed when the Dark won the war! The Dark Lord secured Hogwarts, a den of rebels, and cleansed the besmirched Noble Townhouse of Black of the last battalions of filth of their Light supremacy. Thus, he slayed the Boy-Who-Lived, born to defy him, and granted mercy unto those such misguided, so that they may be redeemed.”

Uncle Vorlost’s eyebrow has risen during this quote that Puck isn’t even sure how he still remembers it. What? Headmaster Snape loves going on and on about the Boy-Who-Lived and how terrible he was, and it was basically all he ever talked about in the month Puck had had him as a replacement teacher. _Of course_ he learned every mention of him by heart for that damn exam.

“As I said, the books are not quite factual. Unfortunately, however, some people still recognise Harry and have some absurd thoughts about him owing them and that he has to fight and kill me. Even some of the Order members still think that, actually.”

Suddenly, Puck is terrified. “But he wouldn’t, right?”

But Uncle Harry _had_ told Puck to start a rebellion. What if he actually was a double agent, trying to kill Uncle Vorlost? What if his life was a lie? What if he didn’t even care for Puck? What if-

Surprisingly, Uncle Vorlost is laughing. “I would have to do something awful like turning against Muggleborns or enslaving house elves for him to move against me, and even then, he’d only lock me away and come by every day to give me those disappointed looks until I cave. And if he ever becomes careless with his life, I’ll put him in a pretty glass tower until he sees sense. Don’t worry for us, Puck. We know which lines not to cross and are all the happier for it.”

“Careless with his life?” Puck repeats. There was something swinging in those words, some terrible undertone that… A horrified understanding hits Puck as he connects the dots, and he gasps loudly.

His eyes wild with panic, Puck practically begs Uncle Vorlost, “Please tell me that I’m wrong. Uncle Vorlost, please…!”

Uncle Vorlost only watches him with a heavy stare. Minutes go by silent as he scrutinises Puck.

Finally, he says, “One of these days, you should sit down with Harry and a bottle of Vodka and ask him why he hates those entitled little Pureblood brats so much. I, however, will not betray his confidence by saying any more.”

From then on, it doesn’t take long for Uncle Vorlost to leave. He is a busy man and Puck is too shocked to think of anything to say.

He can’t think of anything for a long, long week. Then, he asks Uncle Harry to meet up with him in private.

Per owl post.

Because he’s a coward.

And he’s aware enough of it that that’s the first thing he says to Uncle Harry.

Who stares at him blankly.

Then, he slowly puts down the stack of homework he’s carrying on his desk, takes off his heavy coat and hangs it on its hook neatly. He sits down, still staring as Puck who is also sitting, playing with his fingers nervously.

“Excuse me?”

Obligingly, Puck repeats himself. His fingers press against his knee and he takes a deep breath before explaining.

“It was wrong of me to… to just ignore you for… basically nothing. I mean, it’s like you said – you’re still the same people, you and Uncle Vorlost, no matter what else you might be apart from my Godfather and his soulmate. But then I couldn’t muster the courage to actually tell you and now it’s so late and I’m so sorry.”

Wide-eyed, Uncle Harry blinks a few times before his mouth clangs shut and he closes his eyes, sighing. “What did Vorlost say to you? I swear, that man…”

Puck’s head shoots up as he scrambles to defend Uncle Vorlost. “He just told me what I needed to hear! I swear to you, Uncle Harry. It’s not like he threatened me.” In a smaller voice, he adds as honesty dictates, “Too much.”

Unfortunately for him, Uncle Harry has the ears of a bat. “That’s it!”

Incensed, he stands up and makes as if to grab his coat. Puck can only barely prevent his storming out. Through gritted teeth, he says, “Puck, it’s not like I don’t appreciate you coming here, but I’ve really got to talk to Vorlost now before he drives me completely bonkers. We need a coup-d’état or something, I swear to Magic!”

Finally, Puck voices what has bothered him since the very first time he heard that particular idea. “You keep saying that, Uncle Harry! But if he’s your soulmate, why would you want to incite a rebellion?”

Uncle Harry groans and sinks back into his seat, burying his head in his arms. “Vorlost is bored. He’s terribly, _terrifyingly_ bored. He keeps correcting all my essays, and shows up to my duelling classes with a frightening regularity, and now he sticks his nose into our relationship and he’s getting _so annoying_!”

“Then tell him off,” Puck advices, though he knows Uncle Vorlost’s stubbornness and thinks that would do exactly nothing.

Again, Uncle Harry groans. “I do and then it’s dinner parties all around and he’s peacocking around like he’s trying to outdo the Malfoys. Which would be fine if I didn’t have to hang on his arm looking all pretty! You think your father’s soirees are terrible? Vorlost’s little get-togethers are a hundred times worse! There’s high rank Death Eaters and high rank politicians, but Merlin forgive if the guests actually find out that Death Eaters and politicians are present! It’s coded language and allusions and double entendres all around, and damn if Vorlost doesn’t look…” Uncle Harry remembers he’s talking to Puck and changes words last second, but it’s not helping, because Puck’s already finished his thought for him and yuck, he did not want to think about Uncle Harry actually finding Uncle Vorlost attractive, and now that all he can think about, and that-

Uncle Harry clears his throat, an obviously amused look on his face. “Vorlost, of course, is in his element. He loves those sorts of games, and it is kind of funny to see all those men with more power than sense or smarts look more and more confused as he talks on and on. But do _I_ really have to glamour up to protect my identity, say nothing so that my voice can’t be tracked back and _still_ be present? Can’t he just give me the highlights later on? The longer he’s bored, the more irritating he gets. _He_ wanted to be Minister. I was content with my research and my teaching, but _no_ , he just had to choose the job with the most amount of the most superfluous paperwork done by the most redundant idiots who have the money to buy a post, and the longest work hours, and no time off. There’s always a crisis here and a possible catastrophe there. He can’t even use the Dark Lord card to get everyone to shut up because he can’t use it unless he wants to get himself murdered!”

Flabbergasted, Puck listens to the rant, only snapping out of it when Uncle Harry clears his throat and apologised for talking about uninteresting stuff.

As if any of that was uninteresting!

“So why did he take the job?” Puck asks, curious. At Uncle Harry’s questioning eyebrow, he elaborates, “He could have chosen someone else to be Minister. Like Malfoy?”

Uncle Harry snorts. “Only if he wants this country run to the ground would he choose a _Malfoy_. It’s actually quite simple. He doesn’t trust any of the Death Eaters – he thinks they’re too violent. He doesn’t trust any of the politicians – he thinks they aren’t violent enough. So all that remains is he himself. He sacrificed himself, he told me. Can you believe that? He has trust issues, but he also really wanted to lead the country himself. And now we’re here, him bored out of his mind with at least three years more to go, me with more homicidal urges than I’ve had in _years_ , and I’m not only counting Vorlost’s feelings through our bond amongst them. You better believe that you’ll have a new Minister the next time voting comes around or I’ll attack the government myself!”

“Does- does Uncle Vorlost know you’re talking like that?!” Puck hisses through his teeth. Merlin, this conversation could get either of them in _so much_ trouble. If they’re overheard…

“Of course he does,” Uncle Harry answers nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just revealed that the Dark Lord listens to plans of a rebellion against him.

As an afterthought, he adds, “He finds it amusing, I think. I’m still not sure if he’ll run for Minister again solely to see me stage a coup-d’état, but that also means that we-,“ a quick side-look to Puck and his grimace of disgust as realisation dawns, “means that he won’t get to see me as often, so I’m guessing it’s that one.”

“Merlin,” Puck sighs, finally relaxing. “That’s why I didn’t want to go to Slytherin. It’s always mind games with you, isn’t it?”

Uncle Harry smirks, but tellingly stays silent.

The next day, it’s time for duelling class again.

Puck has chosen the timing for his conversation carefully. Should it go wrong, Uncle Vorlost would be there the next day to cheer Uncle Harry up. If it went right – like it did –, Puck can enjoy the show.

As promised, Uncle Vorlost turns up, bringing with him about everyone in the upper levels of school. Within ten minutes, everyone has something to sit on and is quiet.

Anticipating.

Without ado, Uncle Vorlost strides into the circle of empty space and addresses the students.

“I thank you for your enthusiastic participation. The professors will now erect shield charms to protect you from wayward spells. Professor Harry, if you please.”

Uncle Harry walks toward him. Standing there, side by side, they couldn’t be more different.

Uncle Harry’s hair is messy, not combed back neatly. His cheeks have a smudge of dark hair as if he hasn’t shaved for a few days. His robes are high quality, but obviously well-used. He folds into himself a bit as if uncomfortable with all the attention on him. His wand is twirled between his fingers in a nervous move he rarely allows himself.

In contrast, Uncle Vorlost stands tall and proud. He shines in the limelight, soaking up the attention, though he is focussed completely on Uncle Harry. He cedes his place to his soulmate and Uncle Harry explains the rules of duelling, adding that Apparation normally is not disallowed, even if frowned upon slightly, but won’t be used now as Hogwarts’ wands prevent it.

Uncle Harry’s twirling his wand again as the duellers part and come to a stop several meters apart. They bow to each other, Uncle Harry doing so with a slight smirk that Puck only recognises because his mother uses the same one _all the time_.

Maybe the twirling isn’t awkwardness and nerves. Maybe it’s anticipation, now, and impatience.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Within a second, there’s spell light flying _everywhere_.

Puck doesn’t know where to look, whether to follow the spells to see if they hit or the duellers to see them move and cast or the shields that spring up almost constantly. With time, it becomes easier, but it’s all so fast.

The basic things, Puck can see. Uncle Harry is playing more on the defensive side, putting up a good fight against Uncle Vorlost’s tactic of aggressive attacking, but also getting in a few good spells, if the brief glances of triumph on his face hold true. But other than that – most of the spells are cast wordlessly, some even without a wand, and they clearly exceed NEWT level. Besides, they are countered almost as soon as they are cast, leaving behind no chance to find out what the spell was or what it was intended to do.

One time, the floor lifts as if in a huge tidal wave, but a quick movement from Uncle Harry – as if dismissing a disruptive student – puts it back down orderly. Another time, flames appear around Uncle Vorlost, but he emerges uninjured, the only evidence of something out of the norm happening the slight singe of ash on his cheek. A stony arrow narrowly passes Uncle Harry who jumped out of the way while the returning hex almost pierces Uncle Vorlost’s shield and causes him to stop his advance forwards.

On and on it goes, round and round.

It’s been more than ten minutes, surely, and still there’s no end in sight.

Suddenly, the tone shifts. The spells are spoken loudly and clearly, the movements slow down, the spells not shot down so quickly. They are all recognisable, hexes and jinxes and shields the students have learned in school. Still, the duel is more difficult than what is expected of the students to master. The shields are only the size of a hand and need to be deployed strategically and precisely. The spells being of such a basic level means that they are employed creatively. The tactics used slowly change from textbook examples like the Double-Cast, where a spell hides in the shadow of a similarly coloured one, to professional manoeuvres and back again.

Then, the spells turn from Light into Dark Magic. The incantations, while there, don’t reflect the exact spell anymore. It’s interesting to see what words Uncle Vorlost has chosen to cast his spells with, more aggressive one-word incantations instead of Uncle Harry’s soft commands. Shields are utilised in more directions now. The reason for this is is an advantage of Dark over Light Magic that wasn’t known until researchers started studying both types of magic under the Dark Lord’s regime: The spellcaster can change the direction of the spell slightly after its spell light leaves the wand.

Of course, _slightly_ is too normal for Uncle Vorlost. His spells shoot behind Uncle Harry and return like a boomerang aimed at his back, but he is prepared and has a shield ready to the defend himself. Here, Uncle Vorlost and Uncle Harry also up the difficulty gradually until they reach the top of what is possible with spoken NEWT-level spells before winding down again.

They repeat the same process using a mixture of Dark and Light Magic before going all out again.

The teachers holding the shield protecting the spectators start sweating and paling as averted and dodged spells keep hitting their shield like rain drops during a freaking thunderstorm.

And then… Uncle Harry’s movements become more languid and fluid. It almost looks as if he’s dancing, the way he’s dropping his shields and turning this way and that to sidestep spells.

Puck compares this to his parents’ flirting that he is sometimes shamelessly and embarrassingly exposed to and recalls the smile, that damned smile.

Uncle Harry is flirting with Uncle Vorlost.

Right here.

In the middle of a duel.

In front of all staff and almost every upper year student.

When he’s trying to keep secret that he’s Uncle Vorlost’s soulmate.

Puck’s looking around now, ripping his eyes off Uncle Harry who’s steadily moving closer to Uncle Vorlost. Everyone else is spellbound and awestruck, their eyes glued to the duel, but none of them seem to notice the obnoxious flirting going on. Puck is relieved, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch as Uncle Vorlost’s eyes get caught for longer and longer on Uncle Harry’s form as he twists and turns.

Then, finally, it’s over.

As soon as Uncle Harry is within touching distance, Uncle Vorlost tucks away his wand and addresses the students again, thanking them for their attention and expressing his hopes that they’ve learned something.

To Puck, it’s painfully obvious that his attention is not on the words he’s saying.

Finally, his Godfather and his soulmate leave – together! – to get cleaned up and wash off the sweat of the duel.

Well, Puck already knows who’s going to miss the mock wandless duel where physical attacks are allowed, if it’s going to end like _this_. The last years, Uncle Vorlost duelled other teachers, not Uncle Harry, so Puck had had no idea that their duels are more like a lesson that ends up in flirting and a weirdly coincidental disappearance at the same time.

Lesson learned. He’s skipping the next one. No way does he want to see that more than once, even if the duel itself is very entertaining and educational.

It’s not worth the mental scars.

But, well, if _Tatiana_ wanted to duel, Puck would be all too welcoming.

And now he’s thinking about Tatiana and the shower and this is _so not the time_.

He knows it’s not really their fault, but he’s definitely blaming Uncle Harry and Uncle Vorlost for everything.

After the duel and the duelling instructor’s parting words, Puck is surrounded by his curious friends.

“So, you’re Professor Harry’s Godson, right?” one asks.

Puck cautiously says yes.

“Then you’ll surely know who’s his soulmate, because damn, he’s got talent and a massive amount of magic! I mean, I think we all knew that he’s powerful, but going toe-to-toe with the Minister?”

Puck shrugs, thinking quickly. His fingers press his knee and he’s got the answer ready.

With a nonchalant attitude that would do his mother proud, he lies, “Yeah, Uncle Vorlost. He’s not really a people-person, so I haven’t seen him often.”

That’s safe. Uncle Vorlost is known to the world as Lord Voldemort and Minister Marvolo Gaunt. Is Marvolo even his birth name? If it is, why does Uncle Harry call him Vorlost? Is it weird that Puck’s known the man all his life and knows basically nothing about him?

His friends are puzzled about the name, trying to find a match in their memories and not finding any.

“He’s quite a bit older than Uncle Harry,” offers Puck, “and not really known to the world. He almost never steps out of the house.”

Quiet murmuring sets in as everyone close enough to hear him starts trying to remember if they’ve ever heard of him before.

He’s pestered by questions all day long and has to resort to half-truths and complete lies.

In the end, he’s so annoyed by it all that he just looks at the curious kids and tells them, “You know where to find Professor Harry.”

Uncle Harry is a notoriously private person who doesn’t even talk about what he’s up to during the holidays he most definitely never spends at Hogwarts. That subtle reminder makes the children back off hilariously quickly.

It only takes two months for Puck to work up the courage to ask Uncle Harry about Uncle Vorlost’s comment about him being careless with his life and what being the Boy Who Lived really means.

He brings two large bottles of vodka and hot chocolate, unsure which one will be more appropriate.

It ends in a long, long night of voiced regrets, the tale of a life in hardship and an explanation for the words written on his wrist, underneath Tatiana’s “Don’t take another step forward!” and his mother’s “Never stop the mischief” and his father’s “Be yourself and are perfect” and his Godmother’s “The fall is as important as the rise”, that curious “Live happily”.

Needless to say, both of them cry a lot, drink even more and hold each other close as Uncle Harry talks about his painful life.

Things go back to normal after that, even if Puck feels like he understands Uncle Harry a lot better now.

And when the youngest Malfoy spawn causes trouble again and starts throwing around the M-word, Puck drags him to Uncle Harry for punishment with twice as much enthusiasm.

So, months go by. Long talks with Uncle Harry, long talks with a career advisor, long talks with his parents, long kisses with Tatiana, long, long, _long_ periods spent studying and worrying and freaking out.

And then, it’s finally time.

Puck is graduating.

Uncle Harry smiles at him proudly as Uncle Vorlost gives him his diploma. Mom is crying in the background, the quiet kind she’s not doing to be dramatic. Dad is holding her close, but there are also tears in his eyes. Puck’s siblings are mostly bored – the ceremony has been going on for close to an hour, at this point, speech after speech until the graduates finally get their diplomas and vanish from Hogwarts for forever.

Or, well, until they return as teachers, if that’s their choice, or visit their Godfather who just so happens to be a teacher.

And, drawing his eyes to her like a magnet, stands Tatiana.

She’s even more beautiful than usual today, dressed in a light blue dress that makes her eyes stand out, adorned with fine silver jewellery that glitters and glimmers from her dark hair, bejewelled with a smile more shining than any diamond.

When she sees him looking, her smile gets even broader.

The rest of the ceremony passes by, easily forgotten. Puck’s family hugs him and holds him tight. His mother returns to her overdramatic self, causing chaos and cackling gleefully in a way that somehow still is accepted amongst the higher society. His father runs after her, preventing damage and somehow egging her on at the same time. His siblings run off to find their friends or play with their agemates.

Uncle Harry steps forward from where he’s been standing in the corner of the room, standing in a way that hides that he’s been holding hands with Uncle Vorlost. He also enfolds Puck into a hug and sighs.

“My baby Godson all grown up. I don’t know whether to be proud or sad about that.” He sighs again, his eyes wandering over Puck’s face. “But all that matters is that you’re happy. So go do what you’ve wanted to do all evening. Don’t let us old folk make you wait.”

He turns Puck’s face in Tatiana’s direction and whispers, “Live happily, darling.”

Tatiana beams at him and offers him her hand from where she’s standing five metres away.

Puck still twists around and squeezes Uncle Harry tight. “I will.”

And then, he’s off to Tatiana and a new chapter of his – no, _their_ lives.

(Later on, Puck hears that Sirius and Kidding came to crash the party after he and Tatiana had gone to celebrate on their own.

And damn if he isn’t happy he got out there before _those two_ came. They might be fun, but he can do without the special kind of craziness they bring, especially seeing as Tatiana has never met them before and the stories about what exactly they did haunting him for a year, spoken only in hushed whispers, the people present as impressed as intimidated.

Puck already dreads what they’ll do at his wedding…)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you liked it!


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